Run The Risk
by ohtakemebackx
Summary: Brittany wants Santana. Santana wants Brittany. What's standing in their way? The law.
1. Chapter 1

**Helloooooo :) this will probably be a three shot? not sure yet!**

**Hope you enjoy :) follow me on tumblr - ohtakemebackx**

**Run The Risk**

It was Christmas Eve morning, just before nine according to the clock on the kitchen wall. Santana Lopez, still in her pyjamas, she yawned and padded out into the hall to pick up the post. A bill, a pizza delivery flyer and a small pile of Christmas cards addressed to Mr and Mrs Puckerman. It still sounded odd to Santana. Mr and Mrs. This time last year, she'd been Miss Lopez. No husband, no marriage to work at and no in-laws to cope with. She sighed heavily and wandered into the kitchen, taking the post with her.

The flat was unusually quiet as she switched the kettle on and took the coffee out of the cupboard. Noah had gone out about thirty minutes ago to try to beat the Christmas Eve rush at the supermarket. With a faint pang of guilt, Santana realized she was relieved to be alone, at least for a while. Noah had been behaving like an over excited child at the thought of their first Christmas together as husband and wife. Stuck at home with Noah, Santana realized she missed work. Teaching had been a real comfort in the chaos of her life lately and school provided her with a welcome escape when things got too much at home. Today, though, there was no school and no escaping. She was stuck here, sentenced to spend Christmas Day with Noah.

She filled her mug with coffee and dropped a slice of bread into the toaster. The same routine every morning, she reflected, staring absently out of the window. Her eyes drifted towards the Pierce household, and she couldn't help thinking about one of its occupants. Brittany would probably be making the most of her holidays with Sam, she reminded herself. And that was a good thing. It was good that Brittany had found someone her own age, someone who wasn't married, who wasn't her teacher. She moved away from the window, determined to think about anything but Brittany Pierce.

Her toast popped up and Santana dropped it onto a plate. The silence, which had seemed like peace and quiet, suddenly felt less comfortable. She switched the radio on. She needed a distraction.

At the house around the corner, Brittany Pierce had been awake for almost an hour. She could hear her mother calling her, '"It's practically lunchtime," It wasn't, not really anyway. She yawned and stretched, folding her arms behind her head. Her parents were going to Brittany's Grandparents house for Christmas, Brittany wasn't feeling up to Christmas this year and decided she wasn't going. Her mother had persisted, and Brittany promised to think about it, more to keep the peace than anything else. She couldn't tell her the real reason she wanted to stay at home.

Her mom, she reasoned, would dismiss it as a schoolgirl crush, and there were times she worried that was how Santana saw it, too. She rolled over on to her side, hugging the duvet under one arm. It wasn't a crush, she was certain of that. In the face of everything that had happened over the last few months, her feelings for Santana had survived, totally unshakable. If anything, they'd grown stronger, and any doubts she might have had were wiped away.

As certain as she was about her own feelings, she was altogether less sure about Santana's feelings. She knew she didn't think of her as just another one of her students. She'd risked her marriage coming to visit her at her house to 'tutor' her. Santana had believed in her when so many other people didn't, when Santana's controlling husband had tried to stop their tutoring lessons, Santana had put Brittany's feelings and needs first. You didn't do something like that without it meaning something, thought Brittany. But what?

Smiling to herself, she flopped back down on her bed and put the television on. The only thing that could make today anymore perfect would be if Santana were here sharing it with her.

By the time she'd showered and dressed, Santana's mood had lifted. There was, she realized, no way of escaping Christmas Day with the Puckermans. So she might as well make the most of it. They were Noah's family after all - her family now - and if she was going to make her marriage work, that included putting on a brave face once in a while. Her cheery resolve had wavered slightly when Noah arrived home with a pair of matching Santa hats for them both, but he was so determined to make their Christmas special, she gave in and agreed to wear one. It was all about give and take, she reminded herself.

Now, sitting on the bed wrapping her final few presents, Santana thought she might even feel the beginnings of some Christmas spirit. Noah had picked up a Christmas carol CD on his way home and she could hear the old-fashioned tunes drifting in from the living room. Tying some ribbon on the last gift, the gift for Brittany, she picked up the small pile (except for one) and arranged them under the tree. Noah walked by, busy with preparations for tomorrow's lunch, and planted an affectionate kiss on her cheek. Santana cringed.

When Brittany eventually got up she felt oddly unsettled. She'd showered, got dressed, eaten and now she wasn't sure what she felt like doing. Her parents and sister had already left, so she was alone. Alone for Christmas. She sat on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs and rolling a shriveled tangerine around absent-mindedly. She thought about calling Sam up, but decided against it in case he decided to visit. The person she really wanted to see was Santana - that was a no-brainer - but on Christmas Eve, it didn't seem very likely. She jumped down from the counter and wandered over to the living room window, vaguely hoping she might catch a glimpse of her, but hovering there indefinitely didn't feel like much of a plan.

Still restless, she flopped down on to one of the sofas and switched on the television, channel-hopping to find something that might distract her for a few minutes. Getting bored she finally decided to get down the box of family decorations from the attic.

As she unraveled a tangled length of tinsel, her mind wandered back to Santana. She tried not to obsess over her, not to spend too much time imagining what a life with her would be like, but she couldn't help dreaming sometimes. They were always together in her dreams. She'd leave school and get a job, while Santana got a new teaching post somewhere far away from Lima. They had a small flat and were saving up for a bigger place, but, for now, they were happy to just be together. At Christmas, she decided, adding a new image to the dream, Santana would be the one to do most of the decorating but she'd help out, going to get the tree and sorting out the fairy lights. When they'd finished they would switch off all the lights and lie on the floor under the tree looking up at the twinkling decorations. Hey, a girl could dream.

Putting the tinsel down and deciding to finish the decorating later, she headed upstairs to get her shoes and jacket. Fresh air was what she needed.

Santana had always believed that the best thing to do if you had a problem was to distract yourself by keeping busy. it was the reason she'd devoted so much time to her job recently, and it was the reason she was now bustling industriously around the kitchen getting things ready for Christmas Day. Unfortunately, no matter how many potatoes she peeled or how hard she polished the wine glasses, the plan wasn't a complete success,

"Are you sure I can't do anything to help?" Called Noah from the sofa.

"Sorry?" Said Santana. She was finding it as hard to concentrate today as to stay cheerful.

"Do you need any help?" Noah repeated.

"Oh, no. I'm -" What was she supposed to be doing next? Her eyes fell on a long, narrow box on the other side of the kitchen and she remembered. "Laying the table," she said. "It's fine."

The cutlery had been a wedding present, Santana remembered, as she flipped open the lid of the box, revealing rows of gleaming knives, forks and spoons. Another ivory wrapped package with a matching gift tag wishing them 'a lifetime of happiness together'. It hadn't worked out that way so far. Arguments? plenty of those. Jealousy? by the bucketful. Misunderstandings, resentment, disappointment? Check, check, check. But happiness? that had been in pretty short supply since her wedding day.

Of all people, it was Brittany who had tried to warn her. A surprise visitor, turning up at the last-minute and hoping to persuade her that marrying Noah was the wrong thing to do. She'd tried to talk her into leaving while she still could, but Santana had done what she always did - ignored her and pretended everything was okay. She shook off the memory. it was all behind her now; she was committed to her marriage and to Noah.

Santana felt her earlier anxiety return. She was fed up of racing around preparing for a day she was dreading and it was getting harder and harder to keep thoughts of Brittany out of her head. It was dangerous, she knew, to let them in, but part of her craved the danger. Here, she was stuck playing the part of the dutiful wife and it was smothering her. Brittany didn't see her as a label or a title. She didn't even think of her as her teacher most of the time, remembering her reluctance to call her Mrs Puckerman in class. To her, she was always Santana.

She leaned across to pull up the slatted wooden blind, thinking some fresh air might clear her mind, but, before she could open the window, she froze, heart pounding. Her gaze had fallen upon a figure walking along the street below her window, as if she'd sensed her watching, Brittany glanced up at the window. Seeing Santana standing there, eyes fixed on her as if there was no one else on the street, she stopped and stared back at her. She didn't know how long they were looking at each other, or which one of them broke away first, but by the time Brittany was gone, she'd made her decision. She scrawled a note, a lie, for Noah and picked up her keys.

If Brittany had been on edge before, it was even worse by the time she got back from the shop. However much she'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of Santana or maybe even run into her, she hadn't held out much hope of it actually happening. If you believed half the stuff in books and films, real life never lived up to your day dreams, but with Santana it was the other way round. Every time she saw her, she looked even more beautiful than she did in her imagination.

Looking up at the flat as he passed had become a habit. It was somehow comforting, knowing that was where she lived, sometimes seeing the light on and thinking she was inside. She'd never seen her at the window before and it had been a shock.

The thing that really surprised her was Santana's reaction. She'd expected her so smile or wave maybe, but then scuttle off, afraid she was doing the wrong thing or that someone might see. But she'd stayed, apparently no more able to wrench herself away than she had been.

Brittany picked up a book, one that Santana had given her, and settled down to read on the sofa. It was books, she remembered, that had brought them together in the first place. When Santana had started tutoring her, the two of them somehow clicked straight away. There was no one she could talk to the way she did with Santana and definitely no one who understood her like she did. Brittany wasn't the smartest teenager her age, but rather than write her off as a waste of space, Santana saw the spark within her. Brittany could relax around her, and she felt like she was more herself with Santana than with anyone. She quickly found herself trusting and confiding in her, even outside their tutoring sessions, and almost as quickly falling in love with her.

She should have seen it coming, she supposed. Santana was bright, caring, funny and gorgeous. She was as relaxed and open with Brittany as she was with her, and as clichéd as it sounded even inside her head, it felt as though they'd known each other for a lifetime. _She's a teacher_, she'd had to remind herself back then,_ the enemy_, or so she used to think. To her surprise, she'd discovered her passion for books. Less afraid of doing badly in school, she didn't hate it anymore. She'd helped her look at the world in a new way, shown her a future she had never dreamed she could have, and somewhere along the line, Brittany had realized she wanted Santana to be a part of that future.

She stood up to go and make herself a drink, but before she was halfway to the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. She paused, hardly in the mood for a conversation with Sam (who it most likely is, she thought). On the other hand it could be someone her mother had sent to check up on her, and the last thing she wanted was her mom ringing up in a panic because she hadn't answered the door.

She pulled the door open and found Santana.

"Did you get together with Sam to make me jealous?" she asked, and Brittany moved aside to let her in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the wait, but with further ado I give you... PART TWO! Not too sure how long this will be, maybe a couple more chapters?**

**Part Two**

Santana stood near the door. She knew just being here was wrong, but somehow in the back of her mind, staying close to the way out helped ease the guilt.

"I'm not interested in being with Sam, I never was." said Brittany, finally answering her question. Her voice was calm and quiet and she looked directly at Santana as she spoke.

"I know." she said, flooded with relief.

"You're the only one I've ever been interested in." she said, and fleetingly Santana's heart soured.

"When I heard that you two had begun a relationship.." she began, her voice unsteady, "I was jealous." Santana finished.

If she'd hoped being honest might make her feel better, she couldn't have been more wrong. The relief she felt, at finally saying the words out loud, lasted no more than a few seconds before she was struck by the rashness of her decision to come here and the madness of what she was admitting.

"There you are, I've said it. I was jealous," she choked. "This is insane," she added, barely registering the confusion on Brittany's face. "I'm insane." She turned away from her, a fraught hand pressed to her temple and the other one reaching for the door handle. Brittany moved to stop her.

"Don't go now." She said, firmly.

In a frantic attempt to regain control of the situation and of her feelings, Santana sought familiar ground.

"You shouldn't have agreed to date him if you don't have feelings for him, you're playing with his emotions. You shouldn't have done it." She said it as if she was telling her off, teacher to student, and was instantly ashamed.

"Wait," said Brittany, quietly diffusing her attempt at authority, "just wait a minute. What are you trying to say?"

Unnerved and less in control than ever, Santana shouted. "I'm not saying anything. I'm going. Forget this happened." She turned to leave again, but Brittany grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her away from the door.

"So why did you come round here then?" She asked.

"I don't know," she said, overwhelmed by panic.

"Santana, what do you want?"

They stood just inches apart now and Santana's resolve flickered for the briefest moment.

"I don't know," she lied, her voice finally cracking and the moment gone.

This time Brittany didn't stop her. Fighting back tears, Santana wrenched the door open and slammed it behind her. She crumpled against the frame, breathing shakily and barely noticing the icy December wind. It didn't matter what she'd told Brittany. The truth, however much it scared her, was that Santana knew exactly what she wanted.

Frustrated and bewildered, Brittany stood alone in the quiet aftermath. She didn't understand why Santana had come round. If the things she'd said were true and she felt the same way she did herself, why has she now gone rushing back to Noah? She couldn't let her get so far and then pull away again. More certain than ever that she was with the wrong person, Brittany knew she had to fight for both of them and force Santana into acting on her feelings. She strode decisively across the room and opened the front door.

For the second time that afternoon, Santana was standing there. Brittany stopped thinking and planning and worrying and, for once, let her instincts take over. Santana stepped inside and closed the door, shutting the world out as she kissed her. Her hands curled around the back of Brittany's neck, drawing her closer as she returned the kiss.

Brittany's astonishment at the fact it was really happening and so suddenly, soon gave way to a jumble of other thoughts and emotions. She'd kissed plenty of other people before, but it had never been anything like this. Nothing even came close to feeling this amazing. It was being in love, she supposed, that made the difference.

Santana pulled away too soon.

"I have to go."

Desperate to keep her from leaving but suspecting there was nothing she could say to make her stay, Brittany leaned in and kissed her again.

"I said I was at Quinn's. I can't make him suspicious," she said, gently breaking the kiss a second time.

"Come back," said Brittany, simply.

Santana kissed her, her hands in Brittany's hair.

"I can't," she said, "not tonight."

"Tomorrow, then," Brittany persisted. She'd waited so long for this to happen and it felt so incredible, she could hardly bear that she was leaving already.

"I've got to spend Christmas with Noah," said Santana, almost contemptuously.

She sighed, disappointed, but knowing she had to trust her. "I'll be here,"

"I'll try," Santana promised. She pulled her towards her and kissed Brittany one last time before leaving.

Brittany didn't move as she struggled to take in the enormity of what had just happened. Her brain raced, trying to make sense of it all. Slowly, as if she was melting from frozen, a grin spread across her face. Santana had kissed her. She lifted a shaky hand to her mouth and touched her bottom lip. She'd kissed her.

* * *

Christmas had been the most exciting day of the year when Santana was a child. The anticipation had always made falling asleep on Christmas Eve tricky and staying in bed past six o'clock the morning even harder. She was having a similar problem this year, but it was nothing to do with the excitement of Christmas. Lifting her head off the pillow for what felt like the hundredth time, she peered at the alarm clock - 5:22. It was over seven hours since she'd come to bed, but Santana guessed she hadn't slept for more than three of them. She lay on her back, staring up at the tinsel and fairy lights Noah had used to decorate their room, and tried not to remember how sweet he'd been to her the night before.

She'd barely been able to look at him when she arrived home from Brittany's, and his concern had just made things worse.

"I've got a headache," she'd said, and Noah had pounced on it, grinning sympathetically at her.

"A bit too merry at Quinn's, was it?" he teased.

Feeling she may as well play along, Santana had nodded. "Champagne," she told him.

"Maybe you should go to bed," Noah had suggested. "Sleep it off." And Santana had readily agreed.

Noah had been the model of a caring husband - bringing her paracetamol, a glass of water and putting her to bed. She'd pretended to be asleep when he came in to check on her half an hour later and again when he eventually got in beside her.

The reality was that she'd been lying awake most of the night, turning things over and over and coming to no real conclusion. She only knew two things for certain: she wanted Brittany and it was wrong.

Looking back, she was forced to admit there had been a connection between them from the very beginning. As a new teacher, keen to help a struggling pupil, tutoring Brittany individually had been a challenge. It hadn't proved nearly as tough as she'd expected though. Far from being the difficult and surly student Santana had been warned about, Brittany was smart, interesting and undeniably charming. She was troubled too, there was no getting away from that, and she could see where her far-from-perfect reputation came from.

These days, she did her best to avoid thinking about Brittany most of the time. It seemed so futile. In her heart, she could see that she was so many of the things Noah wasn't - exciting, driven, impetuous - and she understood Santana in a way her husband never would.

But none of it made a difference, thought Santana, sitting up and thumping her pillow back into shape before dropping back down. The cold, hard fact of the matter was that if she gave in to her feelings, she could lose everything. Not just her marriage - her job, for certain, and probably her career, too. Would her friends understand, or her family? Without a job, she'd have to move. All of this before she even got to the moral and legal side of things. It seemed crazy to risk all of that for someone who, however much she loved her now, could easily change her mind after a few years and leave her with nothing.

She turned over on to her side and stared at the matching Christmas stockings Noah had bought. They were stuffed full of presents and he'd obviously hung them side by side on the back of the door after Santana had come to bed.

Washed with a fresh wave of shame and guilt, and exhausted by lack of sleep, she began to sob silently into her pillow.

* * *

"She kissed me," Brittany reminded her reflection when she got out of bed the next morning. How she'd managed to sleep so late yesterday, she couldn't imagine right now. It was eight o'clock and she was buzzing with energy, eager to be up and enjoying Christmas Day. She sang her way loudly through a long, hot shower and then bounded back into her bedroom, a towel wrapped around her body. As she pulled her favorite pair of underpants out of a drawer, it suddenly occurred to her how wrinkly they looked.

"She kissed me," she said, again. She checked her watch anxiously. It didn't seem very likely that Santana would show up this early, but she wanted everything to be perfect just in case.

Showered and now dressed, tidying up was next on the list. Her mom seemed to spend half her life doing it and the other half moaning about it, but as Brittany looked around the room she couldn't see anything especially messy or dirty. She settled on wiping the toaster crumbs off the kitchen counter, putting all the CDs back into their cases and giving the whole place a good squirt of air freshener. As an extra touch, she hunted around for one of the books Santana had brought around. Shakespeare's Sonnets, he read from the cover - it was perfect. She spent ten minutes throwing the book at the sofa, trying to make it look as if she'd been reading and had just tossed it casually aside. She knew it didn't really matter, but she was desperate to impress Santana. As the pesky voice of her subconscious was so keen to point out, she was competing with Noah, and Brittany wanted to make absolutely sure she won.

She checked her watch again and couldn't believe how little time had passed. Wondering what to do next, she realized she'd not had breakfast yet. She pulled out the box of muesli and some Pop-Tarts, deciding to skip the toast this time. There didn't seem any point making a fresh pile of crumbs. She noticed the shriveled tangerine from yesterday morning was still in the fruit bowl.

"Santana kissed me," she said, throwing and catching the tangerine. There was no way she was ever going to eat it. She aimed for the bin and fired the fruit. It hit the lid, spinning it open and fell neatly inside.

"Yes!" cried Brittany, triumphantly punching her fist in the air.

It felt like there was nothing she couldn't do this morning.

* * *

"Happy Christmas," said Noah, handing Santana a silver gift box tied with blue ribbon. Santana smiled weakly. She'd managed to calm down before Noah woke up and, fortunately, he'd put her lack of appetite and near silence over breakfast down to a hangover.

"Go on," he prompted now, and Santana gingerly took the lid off the box. She moved aside a layer of tissue paper and found a matching set of purple lacy underwear. "Do you like them?" said Noah eagerly.

Santana tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "This is more a present for you than for me," she said.

"Try them on," Noah urged.

Santana ignored him and sat on the edge of the sofa feeling oddly distant. She glanced down at Noah's present again, dismayed at the dull predictability of a husband buying his wife lingerie. The thought of getting the same gift every Christmas filled her with despair. She wondered briefly what Brittany would have chosen for her. A special book maybe, or something she knew she would treasure and enjoy. She blocked the thought from her mind as a wave of guilt swept over her.

"Right," announced Noah, "I'd better go and get that brandy butter. Are you sure I'll be able to get it?"

"I don't mind going," said Santana, jumping at the chance to get out of the flat, even for a few minutes. "I could do with the fresh air," she added truthfully.

"Drinking champagne with Quinn yesterday is turning into a bad idea, right?" Noah asked.

Santana felt her mouth go dry. Telling a lie was bad enough; hearing someone repeat it made her feel sick with guilt. She turned away and began putting Noah's lingerie back into the silver gift box in a vain attempt to distract herself and stay calm.

"Before you go..." said Noah. He pointed suggestively at the box.

"What, you want me to put this on now?" said Santana.

"I just want a sneak preview." Noah kissed her softly on the shoulder and, as if she'd been stung, Santana shrank away from him.

"If Emmeline Pankhurst could see me now." Santana said, her expression stern. "I'm a school teacher, a pillar of the community, not a plaything." Santana demanded.

Apparently bewildered, Noah turned to Santana. "Who's Emmeline Pankhurst?" he asked.

Santana ignored him and huffed her way over to the flat door, only pausing on her way out to take the embarrassing Santa hat off. Noah's lack of knowledge and apparent disinterest in the things she was most passionate about bothered her more than she could ever admit. He was a good man, she knew that, a solid and reliable husband, but it wasn't enough. Set in his ways and old beyond his years, he was stifling Santana. His safe dependability had once made her feel protected, but these days trapped would have been closer to the truth. She could feel herself changing, too, being squashed and molded into a person she neither recognized nor wanted to be. Was she really more afraid of her attraction to Brittany than of being stuck in a stale marriage? With her, she felt more real, more alive and as if anything was possible. Her refusal to be bound by responsibilities filled Santana with a dizzying sense of freedom.

She stepped out into the street below, enjoying the string of wind on her face. She headed for the shop, trying to pretend that brandy butter was the only thing she'd come out for. It was no good though. With a twinge of guilt, she remembered her promise to Brittany the other evening. Would she have another opportunity to get away today or was this it?

"Hey! Merry Christmas, Santana," called a voice behind her.

Heart racing, she whipped round to see Kurt and Rachel walking towards her. Between Rachel's Santa hat and Kurt's fake leaopard-fur jacket, Santana wasn't quite sure who was the worst dressed.

"What's up?" asked Rachel. "You forgotten where you live?"

Santana was confused for a moment and then realized what the kooky woman meant. "No, I was just thinking of going to wish Quinn a merry Christmas," she said, hoping she didn't look as guilty as she felt. "But I won't now you're here."

"You might as well cop hold of that then," Rachel said, handing her a gaudy-looking trifle. Santana decided she might have to invent a custard-and-cream allergy before they got to the pudding.

With Rachel leading the way, they trooped back across the street towards the flat.

"Come on, Kurty," Rachel called to Kurt. Santana groaned inwardly. It didn't look like the day was about to get any better. Whose idea was it to invite Hummelberry anyway? Santana thought.

* * *

It felt strange, opening Christmas presents on her own, and Brittany still wasn't sure why she'd even saved them until today instead of opening them as soon as her parents left.

When she was younger, Brittany had loved searching the house for hidden presents in the weeks before Christmas and she'd never had any qualms about opening the ones she managed to find; it felt as if she'd earned them. But without the hunt, when gifts weren't handed over, it seemed more like cheating to open them before Christmas Day. Or maybe, she reasoned, ripping open the first of the brightly wrapped parcels, she was just getting older and more sensible. She pulled out a pair of socks. Maybe not.

After talking to her Grandmother on the phone, she thought for a moment about ringing Santana. As the day wore on, she was starting to worry more and more that Santana wouldn't be able to get away from Noah. She checked the time again. There was still plenty of the day left, She just had to be patient. She put the phone down. Santana was worth the wait.

* * *

A Christmas day with Kurt and Rachel, Santana soon discovered, was every bit as tacky as she'd feared, from the dodgy headgear and Rachel's horror of an outfit, to the garish gift wrap and random presents. Santana had received a pair of fluffy teddy-bear slippers, an industrialized gift pack of rose-scented soaps and a book of handy tips for newlyweds. It might have been funny if it was happening to someone else.

The grand finale had come when Rachel opened her gift from Kurt - a truly revolting handbag. She swung it about, proudly showing off, while Noah and Kurt drifted into the kitchen for more drinks. Santana was pretty sure Rachel couldn't have loved the bag more if it was Prada of Gucci rather than something that had obviously prized little more than twenty dollars out of Kurt's tightly fastened wallet. It looked like roadkill.

"So what do you think?" Rachel asked. "Can you just see me, strutting my stuff down the red carpet? Hey," she added, now cradling the bag lovingly as if it was a baby, "we could go to Sardi's for lunch, just you, me and the bag."

"It's lovely," lied Santana, sincerely hoping Rachel was joking about lunch. If it came to it, she thought, as Rachel landed on the sofa next to her and launched into a guided tour of the bag's insides, she might have to let slip to Kurt how much that would cost.

"Alcohol's up," announced Noah from the kitchen.

"Come on, girls," added Kurt, who was carrying a trayful of full champagne glasses. "A toast, if you will."

"Actually, Kurt, I was hoping I could do the toast," said Noah, and Santana felt a flicker of foreboding. "Grab a glass," he added, handing them round.

Santana took hers, although she had no intention of drinking more than a sip. There was no way she could afford to get drunk today. Loose-lipped and not in full control of her reeling emotions, things could easily go from awful to catastrophic.

Noah raised his glass. "I'd like to make a toast to my beautiful wife on our very first Christmas together."

"Hear, hear," said Rachel. Santana managed a small smile.

"And who knows?" Noah continued. "It might be the last one where it's just the two of us."

Mortified, Santana dropped her gaze. She couldn't look at Noah. What on earth was he doing, making an announcement about something they'd hardly discussed between themselves?

"Ooh, oh." Rachel was twittering next to her. "You're not, are you?" She turned to Santana, beside herself with excitement. "Congratulations!"

"No. No, I'm not," said Santana. She hated herself for sounding apologetic when she had nothing to be sorry for. It was Noah who'd messed up.

"No, Rach. I was just saying, you know, that..." Noah bumbled. He trailed off, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I -" Rachel squirmed and shook her head. "Silly me, jumping to conclusions."

Santana joined in with her nervous laughter, although the situation couldn't have been less funny. She knew Rachel, and she knew this wouldn't be the last they heard of it.

Santana felt temporarily relieved as the four of them sat down to eat Christmas lunch. With the exception of Rachel's trifle, she and Noah had prepared everything themselves and it felt good to be in control of this part of the day at least.

"Here you go, Kurt," said Noah, handing over another bottle of champagne before taking a seat next to Santana. "Do you want to do the honors?"

Santana picked up her knife and fork as Kurt began to pour. She'd been in too much of a state to eat breakfast and now realized she was starving.

"Your turn," said Noah, holding out a cracker out to her. She put down her knife and fork, knowing it was pointless to resist. She grabbed the cracker, pulling hard. The contents fell to the floor, and Noah bent down quickly to pick them up.

"What's your joke?" Rachel asked.

"Looks like it's your present," said Noah, softly. He handed Santana a long, narrow jewellery box,

"But I opened all my presents this morning," said Santana.

"Not quite."

"Noah..." Touched and confused, she was lost for words.

"What is it?" asked Rachel.

"What have you done?" said Santana.

"Open it," said Noah.

Uncomfortably aware of her audience, Santana did as he asked.

"Oh, my word." The necklace inside the box was beautiful and she suddenly wanted to cry. After thinking badly of Noah and his earlier gift, this was so thoughtful. The guilt she felt over kissing Brittany last night, over being attracted to someone else, threatened to overwhelm her. She fidgeted in her seat, embarrassed at being the center of attention and certain she didn't deserve such a beautiful present.

Noah stood up and moved behind her as Santana took the necklace out of the box. Rachel and Kurt followed suit, surrounding Santana to get a closer look.

"It's lovely," said Rachel.

"I had to approve it," piped up Kurt.

Noah took the necklace out of Santana's hand and she smiled, despite her discomfort, as Rachel helped him fasten it around her neck.

"I don't know if I've ever said this before, but you look stunning," Kurt said.

Santana smiled gratefully at him, not sure she could have answered through the lump in her throat, even if she'd known what to say.

"I think I'm going to cry," said Rachel.

"Do you like it?" Noah asked.

Santana took a second to get her emotions in check. "I love it," she answered, not sure of the truth anymore.

* * *

In some ways, Brittany's life would have been much easier if she had fallen for Sam rather than Santana, but you can't help who you fall in love with. After the events of the last few months, she found it hard to relate to guys her own age, let alone think about sleeping with them. She felt much older than seventeen, more of an adult now, and she wanted an adult relationship. With Santana, she was bothered. She'd waited for her and fought for her, she was in love Santana and having sex with her felt completely like the right thing to do. It was a pity that wasn't all there was to it.

Having a relationship with an older woman was fine - fantastic, even - but older also meant more experienced. Imagining Noah and Santana having sex was usually something Brittany reserved for her blackest moments, but she knew they must do it. She suspected, or maybe hoped, that it was another of those things Santana did because she was supposed to, not because she particularly wanted to. But that didn't stop her worrying she wouldn't be able to live up to Noah. If practice made perfect, it stood to reason that Santana's husband, twenty-something and married, had a pretty long head start on Brittany. She remembered how it had felt to kiss Santana. That had been amazing because of who she was kissing, not how they kissed. Was the same true of sex?

She sighed. There was nothing she could do about it now, and if she didn't stop worrying, she'd have psyched herself out before she and Santana even got that far.

Exhausted by waiting and wondering, she stared blankly up at the ceiling. She fidgeted with her phone, battling the temptation to dial Santana's number. She realized she didn't even know what Santana was doing today. She'd said she would be with Noah, but were they on their own? It would be pretty hard for her to explain away a phone call from Brittany if that was the case. There was no way Brittany wanted to make things any more awkward for her. A text, on the other hand - she sat up straight and opened the phone - that would be simpler for Santana to cover up. Her thumb stabbed at the keypad.

_**Last night was amazing. When are you coming back? I miss you**_

She reread it and deleted it straight away. Too full-on. She tried again.

_**Are you OK?**_

Short and sweet, but a bit vague. She wanted her to remember how it had felt when they kissed and, she reminded herself, the whole point of this was to find out when Santana could get away from Noah.

_**All I want for Christmas is you. When?**_

Definitely not. You could practically smell the cheese. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. She gave one last half-hearted shot.

_**Tell Noah he's history. I'll see you in ten minutes.**_

_**Merry Christmas.**_

Brittany smirked and shut the phone. As if she would send that.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

**Wow! I'm so sorry it took so long to update! Life kind of got in the way, but i'm back now ;)**

**I'm so overwhelmed with the amount of favourites and follows this story has got so far!**

**So, i'm thinking there will only be one more chapter (after this one) left in the story because it was just supposed to be a Christmas three-shot... buttttt I will be doing other stories/oneshots with this 'verse.**

**Anyway, here's part 3!**

* * *

When she'd first found out about Brittany's feelings for her, Santana supposed it would be a short-lived infatuation. She hesitated to use the word crush – it always seemed horribly patronizing to presume that someone couldn't be properly in love just because they were young – but you heard about that sort of thing happening to teachers all the time.

She and Brittany had been alone in her classroom after a big exam Brittany had taken, talking about plans for the summer. When Santana teased her about boyfriends, Brittany had admitted she was interested in someone, and then Brittany kissed her. It was very Brittany; simple, sweet and straightforward. No messing around and no playing games. Santana had pushed her away, shocked, and bound by her position as her teacher to make sure Brittany knew they could never be more than friends.

But Brittany's feelings hadn't burned out in a few weeks as she'd expected they would, and by the time Santana stopped to consider how she felt about it, the situation wasn't entirely one sided. Brittany had changed their relationship, and one small, stolen kiss had forced Santana to look at her in a different way.

"You're a good looking girl," she remembered telling Brittany, although she was suddenly aware of it in a much less subjective way. She was good company, too. They had a lot in common and it was only natural that she was flattered by Brittany's attention. As reluctant as she'd been to suggest Brittany had a crush, that was exactly what she put her own attraction down to. It was inappropriate and Santana had known she couldn't act on it. Her only option was to ignore it and move on, hoping the problem would go away.

Santana wondered now whether Brittany had been a symptom of her uncertainty about marrying Noah, or the cause of it. If she hadn't have been there, would someone else have come along instead? Or would she ever have questioned her feelings about Noah and their marriage if she hadn't met Brittany?

Whatever her own, muddled emotions were now, Santana didn't doubt for a minute the sincerity of Brittany's feelings. She accepted that Brittany was genuinely in love with her, but she also remembered that the first time it happened to you, love can be dangerously idealistic. Part of her adored the fact she was so all-consumingly romantic about the two of them, refusing to see beyond how much she loved her, but at the same time, it made things so difficult. Brittany could only see one path for them, but Santana knew they couldn't take it.

"Hey, leave those," said Rachel. Santana jumped, she was standing stacking dinner plates and dishes in the sink. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed Rachel coming up behind her.

"We can do them later."

"It's fine, really," said Santana.

Rachel took the plate out of her hand, "It's tradition," she persisted. "We always play charades after Christmas dinner. Besides, if you don't join in, the teams will be uneven."

"There's no point arguing with her," Kurt called from the sofa. It looked like everyone else had been already talked into the game.

"Lovely," said Rachel, leading Santana out of the kitchen.

She sat down next to Noah as Rachel jumped into organizing teams and rules. Noah threw his arm around her as they listened and Santana leaned against him awkwardly, nodding when everyone else did and allowing herself to be swept along in Rachel's wake.

"So it's me and Santana against Noah and Kurt," Rachel decided. "Who wants to go first?"

"I'll do it," said Noah, swaying slightly as he stood up to begin miming what eventually turned out to be _The Nightmare Before Christmas._

As the game progressed, Noah wasn't the only one swaying when he mimed and slurring when he guessed. One by one, wine glasses were drained and heads drooped until only Santana and Rachel were left awake. Unfortunately for Santana, the snoring majority weren't enough to put Rachel off playing.

"Ok, last word," said Santana.

Rachel stood in the middle of the room, flapping her arms for all she was worth. There was something very satisfying about watching her struggle to keep quiet, thought Santana as she tried to guess the film Rachel was miming.

"Sounds like hush... silence... quiet," said Santana. Rachel nodded furiously. "Quiet. Sounds like quiet. Qui, qui...Kwai. _Bridge Over The River Kwai_!" Santana guessed.

"Thank goodness!" said Rachel, evidently thrilled to have her voice back. "I thought I was going to die on my feet," she added, "I'm going to do the washing up and then I'll rouse Kurt and we'll be off out of your way."

"Don't worry about any of that. I'll do it later," said Santana, almost laughing with relief at the thought of Kurt and Rachel leaving.

"Oh, well, if you're sure," Rachel breezed. "Right, come on, it's time to go. Wakey, wakey." She shook Kurt, "You realize, of course, don't you, it's going to be like this every year. Christmas, I mean," she told Santana.

"And Santana," Rachel went on, "I just want to say, you make a wonderful couple. I'm very proud of you,"

"Thank you," said Santana, a little thrown by the compliment.

"Once again, thanks for having us,"

"It's been a pleasure," Santana lied politely.

Rachel gave her a little wave and followed Kurt out into the cold December night. Santana sank back against the sofa cushions. Santana sighed heavily. Some merry Christmas that had turned out to be. She looked over at Noah, sprawled across the sofa, and Rachel's words rang in her ears. It's going to be like this every year. There had to be a way out, thought Santana.

* * *

Brittany had almost given up hope, when she heard the knock. Her heart leapt, not doubting for a second it was Santana. She paused, checking to make sure everything still looked okay, and took a deep breath before opening the door. Santana stepped into the room, but didn't go any further,

"Well," she said, as if not quite believing what she was doing, "here I am."

"Merry Christmas," murmured Brittany.

"Is it?" said Santana.

"It is now," said Brittany. She kissed Santana, slipping her hands around her waist. She'd waited all day for this and there was no way she was going to let her go now. She needn't have worried though; Santana wrapped her arms around her neck and returned the kiss deeply. Brittany had to remind herself she wasn't dreaming. She broke away for a moment and something around Santana's neck caught her attention. She rested a hand softly just below it.

"Look what he bought me," said Santana, her voice full of guilt.

Brittany wrapped her fingers around the necklace and gave it a single decisive tug. It came away and she let it slip to the floor as her lips moved back to Santana's.

"What else did he buy you?" she asked between kisses, her hands now stroking her face.

"I don't think I should tell you,"

"Come upstairs," whispered Brittany. She wanted her so badly and she was as sure as she'd ever been that Santana felt the same way. Santana pulled away from her slightly to answer, sounding almost hysterical.

"Do you know who Emmeline Pankhurst is?"

Brittany hesitated. Whatever she'd been expecting her say, it wasn't that. "She's the woman who campaigned for the vote," she said, confused.

She kissed her then more fervently than ever and, encouraged by what was obviously the right answer, Brittany added "suffragettes" between kisses. "Is that right?"

Santana made a noise of approval, and Brittany suddenly laughed at the absurdity of it.

"Why?" she asked.

"No reason."

"Can I ask you a question?" she didn't know why but it felt important now.

"Maybe," Santana turned her head away. Brittany gently put a finger on her cheek and guided it back to face her.

"Have you always wanted this?"

"Take a guess?" said Santana with a hollow laugh.

"You know the day you got married?" Brittany was pushing her luck now. She kissed the side of Santana's neck, loving the feeling of her hands raking through her hair. "When I came to visit you, was I close?"

There was no question she wouldn't understand what she meant. Was I close to stopping the wedding, close to taking you away? With a pang, she remembered how beautiful and sad she'd looked, standing there in her wedding dress as Brittany begged her not to go through with it. She wanted to know for certain that she'd done the right thing at least trying to talk her out of marrying Noah.

"Maybe you were," Santana answered.

Brittany moved her lips back to hers. "Was that a yes?"

Santana kissed her, but didn't answer for a while. When she did speak, it wasn't what Brittany wanted to hear.

"I don't think we should go upstairs?"

A wave of panic hit her. "Why not?" she asked, hoping it hadn't all been too amazing to be true after all.

"It's too far," said Santana.

Wildly relieved, Brittany pushed her gently down on to the sofa.

* * *

As she watched Santana sleep, her head resting against her chest, Brittany didn't think she'd ever been happier. It was early the next morning and although she didn't know what time they'd eventually fallen asleep, it had been hours after Santana's tentative knock at the door. Remembering herself lying in the same spot yesterday worrying about losing her virginity, she wanted to laugh. Sex with Santana had felt like the most natural thing in the world and it was hard to imagine how her first time – or second, she grinned at the memory – could have been more amazing.

She stroked Santana's hair, still gazing down at her and anxious to remember everything about the way she looked sleeping peacefully beside her.

"Hey," she said softly when Santana stirred a few minutes later.

Santana smiled, opening her eyes, and then seemed to panic as she realized where she was.

"Why did you let me sleep?" she said, sitting up and clutching the duvet around herself.

"I was just watching you," said Brittany.

"What time is it?" she asked, urgently.

Brittany shrugged and glanced at the bedside clock. "Eight."

"What am I going to say to Noah?" said Santana, now struggling to get out of bed and retrieve her underwear she'd discarded the night before. "I've been here for hours."

Brittany propped herself up on one elbow to watch her.

"All night," she said. Even saying it out loud, she couldn't quite take in the fact that Santana had spent the night here, in her bed.

"I can't believe this. How am I going to explain?"

Bemused, Brittany sat up. Of course the situation was harder for Santana than it was for her, she knew that, but she also knew she'd enjoyed last night every bit as much as Brittany had. And she'd chosen to come here, she reminded herself. On Christmas night, she'd picked her over Noah.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" demanded Santana. "I've been here all night. Just help me get my things." She was standing in the doorway and Brittany realized there was nothing she could do to stop her leaving. "Well, don't just stand there," Santana shouted at her. "Get them."

Her tone was more classroom than bedroom and Brittany frowned, hurt and humiliated. It wasn't a dream any more, she realized, and the reality of their situation was that Santana had to rush away the minute she woke up. Stark, cold and utterly unromantic, it didn't seem fair that such a perfect night should have an ending like this.

In less than five minutes, Santana was dressed and ready to leave.

"Stay," Brittany pleaded, following as she hurried downstairs. She spotted her shoes on the floor of the living room and bent to pick them up.

"Don't be so ridiculous," she said, still with her back to Brittany. "Imagine what Noah's going to say. What am I going to say?"

She stopped and faced her, as if looking for the answer. Brittany rubbed her head, trying to make some sense of this and wishing she could make everything okay. Before she had a chance to speak, Santana had bent down again and this time, Brittany noticed with distaste it was to pick up Noah's necklace.

"I wish he'd just disappear," said Brittany, bothered by the idea that she might be more concerned for Noah's feelings than for her own. "I wish it was you, me and no one else."

Santana was pulling her coat on. "I'll try and come round later, but for now..." she adjusted her shoes. "I just don't know."

She finally stood up straight and for the first time since she'd left her bedroom they were close and still. Brittany leaned forward to kiss her. "No." Santana twisted her head away, but didn't move the rest of her body.

"Promise you'll see me before the end of the day," said Brittany.

"I don't know," said Santana.

She hesitated, and then kissed Brittany, as if she couldn't help herself. When she broke away, Brittany leaned in closer, desperate to hold on to her for as long as she could. She couldn't stand not knowing when they'd be together again.

"No, please," she said, and for a moment, Brittany thought she might be about to cry.

"Promise me," she whispered as their eyes locked.

Santana seemed to take hold of herself. "I've got to go," she told her, firmly.

Brittany watched, motionless, as she left without saying goodbye.

* * *

Santana stepped out on to the street and looked furtively around to check that no one had seen her leave. She hurried away from the house, but then slowed her pace, torn between getting home as quickly as she could and needing a few minutes to work out what she was going to say to Noah. In the cold light, her decision to come here last night seemed like nothing short of lunacy. She wasn't sure whether to laugh at the absurdity of what she'd done or to cry at the awfulness of her predicament. She'd risked everything, that much was clear, and whatever happened now, she'd either have to live with the guilt or face the consequences.

Maybe things would be different if Brittany was older and male and if she wasn't her teacher. If it wasn't illegal, she thought, feeling nauseated. It was pointless to wonder though. Those were the facts and there was nothing she could do to change them. Shivering, she did up a few extra buttons on her coat and sank her hands into the pockets. Her fingers closed round Noah's necklace. She could hardly stand the thought of what she'd done to him, or what he might do if he found out. Last night had been wonderful, however hard she tried to ignore it, but that didn't matter. She couldn't let it matter. How could leaving her husband – her good, kind, devoted husband – for a teenager be anything but wrong? Brittany's words echoed inside her head. "I wish he'd just disappear." But that wasn't going to happen and, whatever Brittany said, she couldn't tell Noah the truth.

What she was going to tell him, Santana still had no idea. There didn't seem like any kind of feasible excuse for staying out all night on Christmas Day. She considered saying she'd gone to Quinn's again, but then dismissed the idea straight away. She knew that Quinn had been expecting a handful, and that the more people you involve in a lie the more chance there is of being found out. It sickened Santana that she was even thinking these things. When had she become such an accomplished liar? Her feet stopped automatically, and she was shocked to find herself standing outside the apartment already. She checked her watch – it was twenty past eight. Being any later than this would surely just make things worse. Consumed by panic, she fumbled around for her key, faltered and then took a shaky breath before turning it in the lock.

* * *

Bereft, Brittany moved to the window and watched as Santana walked away. Back to Noah, she thought bitterly. If she and Santana were going to be together properly, she had to tell Noah. Brittany didn't want it to be a secret, something they had to lie about and pretend wasn't happening. Santana was too special for that and besides, she wanted the whole world to know how they felt about each other. Noah was a mistake, Brittany had always known that and now Santana had finally admitted it, too.

She pressed her forehead against the windowpane, still now able to tear her gaze away from Santana's retreating back. She knew she was worried about going home, and she was worried for her. Who could tell how Noah would react? A prickle of fear ran up Brittany's spine as she briefly wondered if Noah might get violent. He was a big guy and not exactly brilliant at keeping his jealousy under control. Whatever she felt though, Brittany knew that Santana's husband loved her and she had to trust that Noah wouldn't do anything to hurt her. If anything, Brittany was a far more likely target for Noah's fury, but a few broken bones she could cope with. If it was the price she had to pay to be with Santana, bring on the plaster casts. She'd be great at playing nurse, she decided, smiling to herself as she remembered how beautiful she'd looked lying next to Brittany in the half light last night. It still didn't feel quite real to be remembering, instead of dreaming about Santana in her bed, but dreams don't leave behind two dents in the pillow or the smell of her hair.

She leaned against the edge of the window frame, straining to see her from this distance. She'd be home and all she could do was watch and hope and remember. Losing your virginity was, after all, a once in a lifetime kind of thing, something you were supposed to remember forever. She grinned again, unable to help herself. If she lived to be a hundred, Brittany knew she'd never, ever forget last night.

* * *

Santana pushed open the door and, holding her breath, tiptoed inside. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw that everything looked exactly the same as it had done when she'd left last night. The sink was still full of dirty dishes, screwed up pieces of wrapping paper littered the floor and the kitchen counter was heaving under a mass of empty bottles and glasses.

"Santana?" came a voice from somewhere in the room.

She froze. "Yes."

"Where've you been?" asked Noah. He sounded hoarse and, as Santana peered further into the darkened room, she realized that he too was exactly where she'd left him, lying on the sofa still wearing the same clothes and with the stupid Santa hat crumpled under his head.

Relief surged through her as she answered.

"I just went out to get some milk," she said, the lie much smaller and simpler than she'd ever hoped to get away with.

Noah groaned and, with obvious effort, sat up, cradling his head in his hands.

"I'll get you some coffee," said Santana.

She shrugged of her coat and switched the light on. Noah moaned again as the room was filled with cold yellow light. Looking around, Santana faced grim reality. Everything reminded her of yesterday, the bleakness of Christmas Day compared to the bliss of Christmas night. How was it that feeling so wretched was perfectly acceptable, while being so happy with Brittany was wrong?

Behind her, Noah got up and shuffled towards the bathroom. The only thing to do, she thought decisively, was get this mess cleared up. She pulled a roll of rubbish sacks out of the drawer and squirted washing up liquid into the sink. It suddenly seemed enormously important that the apartment was clean.

"So where did you say you'd been again?" asked Noah wandering back into the room a few minutes later.

"I, er, went to the shop to get some milk, but it was closed," Santana said. "It slipped my mind that it wouldn't be open," she added, embellishing her lie to explain why she'd arrived home empty handed. She went back to the bag she was filling with torn wrapping paper.

"Have you been there all night?" she asked Noah, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah," said Noah, uncomfortably. "Sorry. I didn't mean to crash out like that. I can't even remember Rachel and Kurt going home." He stretched the back of his head, his eyebrows knotted in a frown. "It started out so perfectly and then I ruined it for you, didn't I?"

"No, it's okay," said Santana. She didn't know what else to say.

"I made a fool of myself getting so drunk."

Santana carried on scooping rubbish into the trash as he fell silent. Noah caught her arm as she passed and turned her round to face him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Honest." He went to kiss her, but Santana flinched and backed away.

"Let me just get all this cleared up," she said, wracked with guilt and hardly able to stand being near him. She picked up the rubbish sack again and began manically stuffing paper inside, now worrying, on top of everything else, whether Noah had noticed anything suspicious.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Okay guys, we've come to the end of this particular story, buuuuut I will be doing others with this 'verse. I will be writing lots! So it's not the end! ;) you'll get to see more into their lives, before and after this story.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Brittany stayed at the window long after she knew Santana must have arrived home. It wasn't as if she was really expecting to see anything – Santana hurrying back to her, or Noah throwing something out of a window in anger – it just helped her feel somehow closer to her. She was still stung by the hurried turmoil of her departure, but she knew it had only been like that because Santana was so worried about how Noah would react. The thing that really mattered, Brittany told herself, was that Santana felt the same way she did. Her mind whirled as she thought about the future. Everything would be different now. There might not even be any point starting back at school after the Christmas break. In the back of her mind, she worried about Santana and whether she could be fired for falling in love with a student. She didn't see why but she had a feeling their relationship would be against the rules. Santana could find a new job at a different school. As long as they were together, who cared where they had to live.

For the first time, Brittany was absolutely certain that she could look after Santana just as well as Noah did. Until now, it had been her only real doubt. The thought that she mightn't be good enough for her or that she couldn't take care of her properly had woken her up in the middle of the night, sweating and panicking, more than once. She knew she could offer Santana so much that Noah would never be able to, but she hated the thought of her worrying about money or having to go without all the things she wanted her to have. It was last night that made the difference. There was nothing Noah could give Santana that Brittany couldn't, and she was ready to do whatever it took to be with her.

She shivered, suddenly aware that she was still wearing boy shorts and a tank top. She thought about going to get dressed, but she didn't want to move away from the window just yet. Impatient to find out what was going on, she turned round and grabbed her cell phone from the mantelpiece behind her. She scrolled down to find Santana's number, about to press the green call button, then changed her mind and clicked through to the text screen instead. What could she send, though? 'Have you done it yet?' sounded too impatient, 'I'm here for you' was straight out of a corny greetings card and she had a feeling that 'I love you' would just make her more anxious right now. Frustrated, she dropped the phone back down and stared out of the window again. If she could just find out what was going on and make sure Santana was okay.

She jumped as the phone rang and scrambled to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, darling," came a chirpy voice.

Brittany's heart plummeted. "Mom," she said flatly.

* * *

Her hands in the sink, Santana stared blankly out of the window, remembering random details from the night before: the smell of Brittany's skin, the way she'd kissed her neck, how strange it had felt to sleep in a single bed again. It's not fair, she wanted to scream, nothing about this is fair.

She looked down and realized she'd been washing the same plate for minutes. Noah padded into the kitchen behind her, fresh from a shower, and she guilty began scrubbing the plates faster.

"Sit down," he said. "I'll do that."

Santana glanced at him over her shoulder. "It's all right."

"Go on," Noah insisted, standing close behind her, stroking her arms.

"No," said Santana. It was too much in protest at him touching her as it was about the washing up.

"I shouldn't have invited them, should I?" said Noah with obvious remorse.

"It's fine, really."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't I wouldn't have got drunk. Rachel, she always does it. She keeps topping everyone's glasses up and, before you know it, you've lost track. I'm sorry."

"Stop going on about it," Santana snapped.

"And there was me promising you a romantic Christmas," said Noah.

For a few hours on Christmas Day, Santana reflected, it had been wonderfully romantic. The trouble was, her husband had spent those hours in a drunken stupor, snoring into the sofa cushions and drooling on his Santa hat. She closed her eyes, holding back tears.

"Are you listening to me?" she heard Noah say.

Santana sighed, then turned to face him. "Sorry," she said, realizing how unfair it was making Noah suffer like this. She, after all, had much more to feel bad about.

"Look, it was a bit of an ordeal having Rachel and Kurt, but you've got nothing to apologize for."

"I'll never invite them again," said Noah earnestly.

"You don't have to say that," said Santana. She looked away, still feeling uneasy.

"Where's your necklace?" said Noah, suddenly.

Santana raised a hand to her throat, touching the bare spot where the necklace should have been. Touching the same spot Brittany had the night before.

"I took it off," she invented. "I didn't want to sleep in it. I might break it."

"Would you put it on? Noah asked.

"Now? I'm doing the cleaning," Santana couldn't meet his eyes.

"I'd like you to,"

"Okay," said Santana. "This place is such a mess," she added, panic stricken and playing for time. How was she going to retrieve the necklace from her coat pocket without Noah seeing and wanting to know what it was doing in there?

"Leave it to me," Noah offered.

"Let me just get on with it, okay?" snapped Santana. She ducked round him and swept up her coat along with Noah's Santa hat and some hair clips on the pretence of tidying them away. Leaving Noah in the kitchen, she hurried into the bedroom, closing the door behind her and sinking down on to the bed. This was unbearable.

* * *

Standing sentry by the window eventually turned from comfort to torment as Brittany waited for Santana to get in touch. Some of her earlier unease had returned and now, washed and dressed, she was sitting on her bed, still waiting. It had felt odd making the bed, as if she was destroying a little piece of last night, but she had to believe that Santana would be back soon. She fidgeted with the phone next to her on the bed and then stared hard at the screen for a few seconds. Ring, she thought, ring now. It didn't work.

Still fidgeting with the phone, she looked distractedly around her bedroom. The old posters stared back at her. She closed her eyes, opening them again quickly to try and imagine the kind of first impression the room had made on Santana. It was hardly sophisticated, she had to admit. When she imagined what her bedroom might look like, the bedroom she shared with Noah, she cringed. Whatever it was like, she was sure there wouldn't be any posters on the walls, no teddies or clothing strewn across the room. Embarrassed, she made a snap decision and rolled off the bed. She grabbed the Britney Spears poster and tore it off the wall, and then did the same with the others, screwing each one up before throwing it on to the floor. Spurred on by how good it felt to be doing this, Brittany gathered up more things – childish collections and souvenirs – and added them to the rubbish pile. It felt like a ritual, as if she was drawing a line under her childhood, ready to make a fresh, adult start.

When she was finished, she sat on the edge of her bed, satisfied she'd done a good job. She couldn't wait for Santana to see it. Spotting her phone still lying on the bed, she picked it up and flopped backwards on to the bed so she was stretched out. Santana would call her. However hard it was, she had to be patient.

* * *

Santana crouched next to the vacuum, clutching her cell phone uneasily. She found Brittany's number and pressed dial, but before it could ring out, she heard Noah's key turn in the lock. She fumbled the phone shut and stuffed it into her pocket.

"I thought you said the shop was shut," said Noah.

"I thought it was," said Santana. Her stomach clenched as she spotted the carton of milk in Noah's hand. However good she'd become at lying, it wasn't always as simple remembering what you'd said afterwards.

"That woman who works part time said she opened up for morning papers," said Noah.

"It looked pretty closed to me," said Santana, flustered. "There weren't any lights on or anything."

"Leave that," said Noah, taking it off her and pushing the vacuum away. "Put your feet up. We haven't got any visitors today."

Santana went back to gathering up the jumble of Christmas presents that were still lying in heaps on the floor. Desperate not to be on her own with Noah, she fished around for a way to get rid of him.

"You look really tired," she said.

"I'm okay," said Noah.

"I think you'd feel a lot better if you went to bed."

"Who said we needed more milk?" said Noah. "There's a full one in the fridge."

Feeling ever more tangled in her own lie, Santana feigned confusion. "Is there?"

Noah held up two cartons.

"Yeah, I thought with yesterday and Christmas..." said Santana. She saw Noah shut the fridge door and turn his attention back to her.

"I'll make it up to you," he said.

"There's nothing to make up," Santana reassured him.

"I promised."

"Honestly," she said. Noah was right behind her now, massaging her shoulders. Santana shrugged him off. She wished he could see she needed some space, that she wanted to be on her own.

"You really should go to bed," she repeated. "You'll feel a lot better."

"Only if you come with me," said Noah. He kissed her neck. Santana couldn't have felt more smothered.

"Look at the state of this place," she pleaded.

"I want to make it up to you," said Noah.

Santana was running out of arguments. "I really need to have a shower," she tried, twisting uncomfortably as Noah nuzzled the back of her neck.

"No you don't," he said firmly, forcing her to put down the pile of presents she'd been tidying. "You've got all your new presents on." He ran a thumb under the strap of her purple bra and kissed around the necklace.

Santana bit her lip, fighting the urge to yell 'get off me'. Sex with Noah was the last thing she wanted.

"It's the middle of the day," she protested. That wouldn't stop you if it was Brittany, she heard a disloyal voice inside her head argue. Noah had moved around to stand in front of her now and his arms were curled round her waist.

"But we're on our own," he said and, without warning, lifted her up and carried her the last few steps to the bedroom.

"I know, but..." said Santana.

Noah dropped her gently down on to the bed. "I need to show you I'm sorry," he said, kissing her, "about last night."

Santana finally gave in. She felt obligated to Noah and hated herself for it. Pushing Brittany to the back of her mind she returned Noah's kiss.

* * *

It took a very long shower before Santana's head began to clear. Now, Santana was curled up on the couch next to Noah, who was engrossed in a film she knew he'd seen at least twice before. It was a crass comedy and, lost in her thoughts, Santana had hardly heard a word of it. She was drained, worn out by stress and emotional turmoil. It was all her own fault, she thought regretfully. Her mind kept drifting back to Brittany and taunting her with memories from the night before.

"Did you see that?" Noah chuckled.

Santana didn't answer.

"I love you," said Noah, contentedly. He kissed her cheek and tormented by guilt, Santana screwed up her eyes.

She opened them abruptly as a text bleeped somewhere in the room.

"Yours, not mine," said Noah, who was absorbed in the TV.

Santana raised herself off the sofa, sure it would be from Brittany, less sure that reading it with Noah in the room was a good idea.

"It'll be Quinn asking us to go out for some drinks," said Noah, pulling her gently back towards him. "Ignore it."

"Yeah," agreed Santana, for once glad he saw things so simply.

When the film ended, Noah was fast asleep. Waiting until she was sure it wouldn't wake him up, Santana carefully lifted his arm and extricated herself.

"'s by the door," Noah mumbled in his sleep as she sat up.

Santana hesitated, not moving, but he didn't wake. Slowly, she stood up and stretched out a hand to lift her cell off the coffee table. She carried it towards the kitchen, checking once more that Noah was still asleep before opening the message. Brittany's name flashed on to the screen.

_**What's happening? Does he know? I'm worried.**_

Santana looked back at Noah, peaceful and blissfully unaware of her betrayal. She was ashamed and scared and lonely. How had things come to be this bad, and how could she ever make them right again? The tears she'd been fighting all day ran slowly and silently down her face.

Her thumb hovered over the phone, and she pressed delete.

* * *

Brittany woke up on the sofa. Without Santana, she hadn't wanted to sleep in her bed. She blearily checked the screen on her phone, but Santana still hadn't replied to Brittany's text. Sitting up, she kicked irritably at a cushion that had fallen on the floor. She hated feeling so helpless. Hunting around for something which might explain her lack of reply, Brittany supposed there was a small chance her last text hadn't got through to Santana. She opened the phone and tapped out another.

_**Please call me.**_

There was no way it could be misunderstood. She pressed the phone anxiously against her lips, thinking. Maybe she needed to do something more drastic than texting, take action and show Santana she was willing to fight for her. She couldn't ignore her if she turned up on her doorstep. Feeling determined, she got up and crossed the room, but her hand froze as she grasped the door handle. She punched both fists against the door in frustration and turned away. It wouldn't be fair on Santana. What would she say if her husband answered the door? As appealing as the idea of Noah finding out about them was, Brittany had no right to be the one who told him.

She checked the time. It was still early. What if Santana's phone had been turned off last night and she hadn't seen her message yet? Perhaps she wanted to talk to her in person and was planning to come round this morning. Her head full of maybes, Brittany deleted her unsent message and, with the phone still in her hand, lay on the sofa and drifted back to sleep.

_She stirred a while later and, to his amazement, Santana was standing in the doorway._

"_He knows," she said, as Brittany sat up. "I've told him that I'm in love with you."_

_She was smiling._

"_I've left him. I'm so happy," she said._

"_I love you," Brittany told her._

"_He wants me back," she said, pulling her cell out of her pocket and waving it at Brittany. "But I'm not going to go back. I'm never going back."_

Brittany jerked awake. She was alone. Santana had been a dream.

* * *

By morning, Santana's head was cleared. She felt wretched, but the whole situation was her own fault, and that made it her responsibility to try and put things right again. Sleeping with Brittany had been wrong, she knew that, but there was no way of turning the clock back. She couldn't help the way she felt about her, but she could make sure she didn't act on her feelings anymore. If she focused her energy on Noah and on making their marriage work, she hoped her attraction to Brittany would gradually fade. She'd always known she didn't have a future with Brittany, but with Noah maybe she did.

It was going to be hard, explaining to Brittany, but Santana was an adult, her teacher, and she had to make her understand. The only question left was when.

Her chance came just before lunch. Noah was in the shower. When her phone rang, the caller display told her it was Brittany and, steeling herself, she risked answering it.

"Brittany?" she said, keeping her voice low.

"Santana!" she said, and she could tell Brittany hadn't expected her to pick up. "Where are you? Why haven't you been round?"

"I haven't been able to. I've had Noah here all day." She paced the kitchen nervously, hoping Noah would take his time in the shower so she could deal with this properly.

"Forget him, I'm coming round now. I need to see you," said Brittany recklessly.

"Brittany, listen to me –"

"It's all right. I'll be there in five minutes," she interrupted.

"No." Santana spoke as calmly as her nerves would allow, trying to pacify Brittany and stop her doing anything silly. "I'll come over there."

"When?" she demanded.

She hesitated, but there was no point putting it off.

"Now," she said.

* * *

"Are you going somewhere?" said Noah, drying himself with a towel as he walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

Santana was buttoning her coat.

"I thought I'd go see if Quinn had a good Christmas." She hoped it was the last lie she'd have to tell.

"I know what you're really up to," said Noah.

"What?" Santana panicked.

"You just want to see the baby again," he teased.

She forced a laugh. "You've got me."

"Are you feeling broody?" he said, flicking the towel at her.

Santana shirked the question. "Don't want Rachel getting any ideas again," she said.

He kissed her forehead. "Give them my love."

"I will," said Santana and, with nothing to stop her, she headed out.

* * *

Santana was on her way and Brittany felt like a coiled spring. Elated and panic stricken in equal amounts, she couldn't sit still. Instead, she was prowling around the room tidying up. She wanted Santana to see her as a responsible adult, not some slob of a school teen. By the time she knocked on the door, it looked more or less okay. Brittany spied a pile of crisp packets on the table and stuffed them under a sofa cushion before hurrying to let Santana in.

She moved to kiss her, but Santana tilted her head away and walked past her.

"Does he know?" Brittany asked.

Stopping in the middle of the room, Santana turned to face her.

"No."

"I thought not: the door hasn't been kicked in," said Brittany. Judging by Santana's sombre expression, she decided, it was a bad joke. "Why haven't you been in touch?"

"It's been awkward," said Santana stiffly.

"I've been waiting for you to call. I didn't know what was happening." Brittany moved across the room to be closer to her.

"I realize that, and I know it's selfish, but I've had some things to think about," said Santana.

"Like what?"

"Like my marriage, my job, my career," she snapped. "All of the things I could lose."

Brittany looked into her eyes. "Yeah, but you'd have me."

She knew it was only natural that she was concerned. She had more to lose than Brittany did. She just needed to make her see how serious she was about their relationship.

"It's not that simple," said Santana.

"It is. It could be. It could be just us," she said.

"I'm sorry, Brittany, but there is no us," said Santana firmly, and to Brittany's surprise she made to leave.

"What?" she said, confused.

"We have to stop this right now," said Santana, stopping in front of the door.

Brittany shook her head, not wanting to believe what she was hearing.

"You never said this on Christmas Day," she argued. "On Christmas Day when we were together, it didn't matter."

"I was mixed up," said Santana.

"What, you think I'm not now?"

"I'm sorry, Brittany, but you have to realize this is an impossible situation," she said.

"Why is it? Because you're older than me? Because you're my teacher? Because you're married? Because I'm female? Why?"

"This can't ever work, I can't do it. It's not me," said Santana. She was less rational now, thought Brittany, the tone of her voice gave it away.

She stepped towards her and grabbed her arms, now pleading. "Just tell Noah you've made a mistake. Tell him you've found someone else."

"I can't."

"If he beats me up, I don't care. I can get over that," said Brittany.

"Don't say that! Noah may be a lot of things but he wouldn't do that to a woman."

"Yeah, but then he can go on his way and you and me can be together," said Brittany, hoping she could see the reason, the sense behind it.

"Look, whatever I've made you feel, I am really, truly sorry. I should have known better, but it was an impulse."

"An impulse?" Brittany was horrified. It felt like someone had just kicked her in the stomach. "You love me," she said, as if speaking the words made it true.

Santana didn't say anything.

"I can leave school, I can get a job," she told her, gulping back tears.

"Don't even think like that," said Santana fiercely. "You are going to graduate school and then you'll go on to college. This is your future. You're made for greatness, Brittany."

"My future is you," Brittany implored, and her expression softened a little.

"You have got to accept that this is over," said Santana.

Brittany shook her head. "You know why I can't? Because I honestly believe that you love me, not him. Can you deny that?"

Santana was terrified: of all the things she could lose, the trouble she'd be in if anyone found out what she'd done, but terrified most of all that she might be in love with Brittany. It was too awful to think about and, whether or not she was in love with her husband, she knew one thing for certain.

"I love Noah," she told Brittany.

"When you got married, did you think of me?" Brittany asked, and then more questions Santana knew she couldn't answer truthfully. "Did you think it was going to be a huge mistake? Not us; you and him. Did you feel like running away?"

"No."

Nothing else, no elaboration on the lie. She had to keep this simple and get it over with before her resolve had a chance to weaken.

"Are you sure?" said Brittany.

"Yes," she said, clutching at her wedding ring. "And what's happened between us can't destroy my relationship. I am going to make it work."

Brittany pulled her back as she tried once again to walk away.

"Listen, remember Christmas Day. Do you remember what I asked you?" she said. Her despair couldn't have been more obvious and Santana felt sick with guilt at having to do this to her. "I asked you was I close to taking you away on your wedding day. You never answered my question. Was I close?"

"No," Santana insisted. Was it the truth? She'd been tempted, insane as the idea of leaving with Brittany had seemed, but she could never really have done it. Her parents had spent so much money, everyone had put in so much effort and then there was Noah. Torn between what her heart wanted and what her head told her she needed, it had, in the end, been Santana's conscience that made the decision to go through with it.

"I don't want anyone else to get hurt," she told Brittany now. "That's why this has to end."

"I'm going to be hurt more than anyone," said Brittany.

Santana closed her eyes, willing her to stop.

"I love you so much," she said, and then paused before asking what Santana knew was the only thing that truly mattered to her. "Do you love me?"

"I love Noah," she said. It was a cowardly answer; not exactly a lie, but not really answering Brittany's question either. "I have to go. He's going to be worried about where I am."

"Tell him you were here." Said Brittany.

"You know I can't do that, and he can't ever know about us." For a moment Santana thought she might finally have got through to Brittany. She fell silent.

"So that's it then?" she eventually said.

"I've already told you, my marriage means everything to me," said Santana.

"No it doesn't. I can see right through you." Brittany was shouting again and close to tears. "Why won't you tell me the truth?"

"I have," cried Santana. "I've told you everything."

"Santana, please. Please don't leave me like this, please," Brittany begged. Santana wasn't sure who this was hurting the most.

"I'm sorry, Brittany," was the best she could manage. "I'm really sorry."

It sounded totally pathetic in the face of everything.

"Sorry?" said Brittany, who evidently felt the same.

Santana tried to turn the door handle, desperate to get out, but Brittany kept it shut.

"Look, I know I've hurt you," she said, "but that's why we have to stop this now, before we hurt anybody else."

"Who cares about anyone else?" yelled Brittany. "Why do we have to get hurt? Everybody else can do what they want."

"Let me go," pleaded Santana.

"Please..." said Brittany, moving her whole body to block the doorway and taking Santana's hands in her own. "I love you. I thought you felt the same way."

"You're only a teenager," Santana shouted, snatching her hands away, "yes you feel this way now, but give it a month, two months, you'll have forgotten about me." She cupped her face in her hands, wanting to ensure Brittany was looking straight at her. "You'll have moved on to someone else."

"No, I won't," she argued. "Why are you saying this?"

It was costing Santana everything, but she knew she had no choice.

"Because it's what we all do," she said, speaking slowly and clearly, still holding her face."We all have to grow up. And we have to be grown up about this; we have to put it all down to experience."

"Please," begged Brittany, now sobbing on her shoulder. "I love you. Don't go."

With her last ounce of willpower, Santana fought the urge to hold Brittany, sob with her and tell her everything was going to be okay. It couldn't ever be okay and she had to make her see that.

"I'm sorry, I hope you know that, Brittany." she said, and with that she left.

* * *

Outside, Santana could hardly breathe. How she'd managed to go through with it, she didn't know. It had felt like someone else's voice at times. Shaking, she walked a few paces away from the house and then stopped. She couldn't leave her like that. If Brittany was in half as much pain as she was, she couldn't leave her there on her own to suffer. She turned back, but it was no good. This was the best thing for both of them. She stumbled away, her eyes swimming so much she could hardly see. At the end of the road, she finally, relented, sinking down on to the city steps and started to cry. She couldn't imagine ever feeling worse.

You've done the right thing, she kept telling herself, until the words hardly made sense anymore. She tried to be positive and remember why she'd gone through with it. Her job and career, friends, family, home, her marriage, reputation, but all she could think about was Brittany's distraught face. How could she deliberately hurt her like that?

There were times when she hated herself for being tied to her responsibilities and almost obsessive need to do the right thing. Maybe Brittany had a point – it was always about everyone else's feelings, never her own. But then she thought about Brittany and what was best for her. _Not me, _her conscience whispered. Brittany's life had been hard enough and know she was finally getting it back on track. On her way to good education, she had true potential, a big life ahead of her if she worked at it. She'd get over her and over the hurt, Santana was certain, and in the long term, her life would be better for it. The way she felt about Brittany didn't matter know, she had to cling to that.

* * *

**Okay, so please don't hate Santana after this chapter...**

**Anyway, this is the end to this story, but I will be doing other one shot/stories with this 'verse. **

**I've got so much planned for this couple!**

**Brittana is end game. Remember that.**

**Oh, and follow me on tumblr if you have any oneshot suggestions or want to ask any questions - ohtakemebackx**


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